


Murder is a serious issue

by ZoenOut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoenOut/pseuds/ZoenOut
Summary: Aziraphale found out that Crowley murdered Ligur at the trial. How would you feel if the person closest to you was a murderer?
Kudos: 6





	Murder is a serious issue

Leading up to the little armageddon that wasn't Aziraphale's beliefs of Crowley had been challenged. To be fair he had slammed Aziraphale to a wall... but Aziraphale could understand that. He too would have done something drastic and somewhat violent to the demon if said demon had called him evil, most likely less gentle compared to what Crowley did. But Aziraphale's belifs had been challenged. Perhaps Crowley wasn't quite as... demonic as upstairs made demons out to be. Perhaps he was more like a scared child than Aziraphale had thought. He knew Crowley would resent the thought but that solidified his new beliefs more than anything.

"...and the murder of a fellow demon."  
"A crime I saw with my own eyes!" Hastur, duke of Hell, chimed in.  
Aziraphale in Crowley's body didn't hear much after that. Crowley, the demon, His demon, had murdered someone. Not just discorporated, murdered. Never to come back. He'd somewhat come to his senses when Micael came in, stoic as ever. He was close to loosing it again as he saw the little demon, the opposite of a cherub really, melt into nothing. It screamed. And that was what Crowley had subjected someone to...  
"Do you mind if I take it off?"  
Please, give me some time to gather myslef! Please, I might fall apart otherwhise...

***

Crowley didn't notice the change when they met up once more. If he did he didn't mention it. Frankly, neither did Aziraphale. 6000 years lets you build up some firm habits and going back to the same belifs was somewhat comforting, it meant you hadn't been wrong all those times. It meant you hadn't missjudged an entire person, it meant you'd known where you had them all along. And evidently Aziraphale had known where he had Crowley. He'd known and yet he was still surprised. Surprised and angry. Also scared and dissapointed. In himself and Crowley. In himself for being so blind and for associating with a murderer for over 6000 years. In Crowley for ending a person's life, even if that person happened to be a demon.

***

"Hey. There's something you're not telling me." Crowley's voice sounded cold and dull.  
He'd taken Aziraphale by surprise, knocked on the bookshop door at a late hour and now he was just standing there, in the pouring rain, saying Aziraphale was hiding something from him. He'd be right but you had to admit it was a dirty strategy.  
"Now whatever do you mean by that?" Even Aziraphale heard the lie on his tounge.  
"You're hiding something from me," Crowley said matter-of-fact-ly.  
Aziraphale stayed quiet. Crowley continued to get soaked by the rain. It was as if time froze, it was possible that it did for a moment. Crowley crossed his arms and began leaning his weight on one leg, then the other.  
"You know what I hate?"  
"What?" Aziraphale sounded more annoyed than ever. "What don't you hate, Crowley?"  
"That you're still not telling me things after 6000 years."  
"Why would I?"  
"We're on our own side aren't we?"  
Aziraphale looked down.  
"You said that."  
"But you didn't object Aziraphale! You didn't object when I said that!" Crowley was now gesturing wildly.  
"Well things have changed since then!" Aziraphale couldn't help himself and Crowley went completely still. He froze.  
"What has changed, Aziraphale?" The cold tone was back.  
Aziraphale had backed himself into a corner. He attempted to close the door. Crowley caught it.  
"What has changed?" Crowley put an emphasis on every word. "Aziraphale. Tell me what's changed. Please."  
"I... I've found things out."  
"What have you found out Aziraphale?" Crowley practically screamed.  
"That you killed someone Crowley!"  
Aziraphale closed the door and locked it.

***

Crowley didn't know what to do. At first he'd wandered around London wondering where Aziraphale got the notion that he, Crowley, had killed someone. He watched the rain pour down in the night, watched the odd night-wanderers he passed. He supposed he was one of them now. He watched broken streetlights flicker on and off. He watched the few windows who still glowed with lights. Insomniacs and artists most likely. On the other side of the street a key got tossed to the street where a very drunk man caught it and waddled into the now opened door. As he turned into an alley the realization struck him. Ligur.  
Now how would he explain it to the angel? "I knew they would kill me". That would be a lie because he didn't know that. Torture maybe. "I knew they would kill you"? Would Aziraphale accept that as an answer? Crowley barely accepted it as an answer himself so perhaps finding another would be best... What was he actually thinking? It had sorta been drowned out by what happened afterwards... Maybe Aziraphale would let him explain himself?

***

Crowley didn't read much. Didn't write much either. But now he was writing a letter to Aziraphale. He'd tried several times, it always turned out either too long or too impersonal. He tried one last time, it would have to do.  
"Aziraphale, will you let me explain myself?  
//A.J. Crowley"

***

Aziraphale replied in loopy cursive.  
"Yes.  
I'll welcome you in my bookshop at 5 PM.  
//Aziraphale"

***

So, once again, Crowley knocked on Aziraphales door. This time invited. Aziraphale opened and made a small gesture to the backroom. Crowley didn't have to be told twice. He headed into the backroom, Aziraphale followed and they both sat down. One armchair each.  
"Go on. Explain it to me."  
Crowley hadn't expected him to go directly to the point. He swallowed.  
"Well... Hastur sorta... showed up. Said Warlock wasn't the antichrist, which he wasn't, and that I'd be punished for that." He took a pause. "And... I got home. Took out your holy water. Bucket above the door... and that was that."  
Aziraphale looked like he was fuming.  
"I can't belive how casually you are speaking about a Murder, Crowley."  
"Neither can I," Crowley sounded truthful, "I guess it got drowned out after what happened afterwards..."  
"Which is?"  
"Do you really think you found me at a bar, drunk out of my fucking mind, for no reason?" Now Crowley was the one who sounded furious. "Do you think I got that little self control?"  
"Well why were you there then?"  
"Bookshop burned down. Went in there and couldn't find you. Thought they'd come for you aswell."  
Aziraphale went quiet.   
"And you didn't think God would step in and fix it, did you?"  
"Never."  
Aziraphale sighed.  
"I think I understand. I'm sorry Crowley."


End file.
